


Proof

by MissjuliaMiriam



Series: Original Works [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Boys Kissing, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 11:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1386373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissjuliaMiriam/pseuds/MissjuliaMiriam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A direct sequel to <em>Taking Flight</em>. El learns the truth about Kriss's injury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proof

**Author's Note:**

> Written at the request of the lovely Miss Hearts. I'm so sorry about my inability to maintain a consistent writing style. Enjoy.

El doesn't question Kriss's hesitance at the beginning. The physicality of their relationship is new and sometimes intimidating to him too. He's never known his own body like this, and it can be terrifying to show a part of himself to Kriss that he has barely shown to himself. However, by the third night of his stay in Loksanet, he's ready to have more of Kriss's skin bared to him. He wants desperately to run his hands across Kriss's chest, to kiss his collarbone and stroke his back, unobstructed by a shirt.

It might be dangerous to push, though, he thinks, and instead El takes a gentle tack. He waits until after dinner, after they've retired to Kriss's quarters where the only person who might bother them is the king himself. He lets Kriss lead as they curl together on his bed, El partially sprawled across Kriss's chest with his wing comfortably arranged. This is how it was the previous two nights, though the first night Kriss had been forced to sneak into El's quest room after his birthday festivities wound down in order to avoid too much of his father's notice. They had kissed then, as they do now, pressed together. El knows from the growing surety of Kriss's wandering hands, the way he pulls El close and gasps into his mouth when they shift just so that he wants more, but he doesn't move to remove his own clothing, even after El sheds his shirt. Leading by example, El figures out, is not going to work.

Instead, he sits up, slinging one leg over Kriss's kips and seating himself firmly. Kriss reaches up for him, running his hands down El's bare sides, saying, “El, what-?”

“Hold on,” El says. “I think something here is unequal.” He punctuates his point by tugging at the loose ties on Kriss's shirt.

“Ah,” Kriss says, and looks away. “You're right.”

“So...?”

Kriss bites his lip, and El automatically reaches out to sooth it with his thumb, pulling the soft, kiss-swollen skin from between his teeth. Kriss sighs, and pulls El down to kiss him again.

“You're trying to distract me,” El murmurs against Kriss's mouth, and breathes in the resigned breath he receives as a response.

“Sorry,” Kriss says. “I just-”

“What is it you don't want me to see?” El asks, sitting up again. He slides one hand down Kriss's chest to the hem of his shirt, tucking his slender fingers beneath the fabric. Kriss's dark skin is hot below the fabric, and El wants more. So far, though, Kriss hasn't allowed him more than this.

“Nothing,” Kriss says, too quickly. “I'm just shy.”

“You are a lot of things,” El laughs. “Shy is not one of them, my heart. Please, let me see?”

Kriss looks up at him with gem-bright green eyes for a long moment, studying his face. Something in El's expression must communicate his want, because then Kriss sighs again and sits up, pushing El back so that he's more comfortably seated in Kriss's lap. “I didn't want to you find out this way,” Kriss says, and then he pulls his shirt over his head in one swift, strong movement. At first, El sees absolutely nothing wrong- he's too distracted by the clean, lovely planes of dark skin, the shape of the lean muscle in Kriss's chest, the breadth of his shoulders. Then his eyes trace the smooth line of Kriss's waist, and catch on a strange break in what should be an unbroken curve. A thin line of scar tissue curves around his side towards the bottom of his ribcage, not too far, but far enough to be visible.

El frowns, and with the tips of his fingers, he traces the line around Kriss's side to his back. It tapers off before it reaches his spine, but quickly El finds another, and then another, haphazardly crossing scars spread across Kriss's back. He lays his palm flat and finds a complex map of them, none too wide, nor swollen enough to indicate deep wounds, but each of them marked into Kriss's skin as sure as anything.

“Kriss,” El says, and meets green eyes. Kriss looks almost ashamed, but there is a determined set to his jaw, and his eyes are hard.

“I didn't want you to find out like this,” Kriss repeats, and El has to lean forward to kiss him before he can begin to process what exactly it is that lies beneath his palm.

“What happened?”

“Look,” Kriss says, and lifts El out of his lap, twisting on his knees to bare his back. “If you still don't understand, I'll tell you.”

It's not hard to understand, though, once El can see it. The lines of paler skin tell a tale of suffering, sure enough, of pain and endurance and punishment. None of the scars are more than a few months old, each one young and sensitive. El traces one, an almost vertical line tucked against Kriss's right shoulder blade. Kriss shudders. “I wasn't aware that elves whipped their horses,” El says, quietly, and presses a kiss to the top of the scar. “Never mind their princes.”

“The elves, perhaps not,” Kriss replies, just as hushed. “But my father does.”

El draws a sharp breath. He knew the moment he realized what had caused the scars, but the truth hadn't caught in his mind until now. Kriss had been whipped by his father, or on his father's order. “Why?”

“Because I would not tell him that I had no heart.”

“He did it himself?”

Kriss shakes his head, his hair brushing against his neck. “My uncle bore the whip against me, though afterwards he shed tears, and asked my forgiveness. I gave it, of course. It was not his fault.”

The retreat to formal speech makes El scoot closer, trying to warm the parts of Kriss that had frozen. It isn't so easy, he knows. He tries anyway.

“I love you,” he says, speaking the words into the side of Kriss's neck, wrapping his arms around Kriss's waist. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't apologize.” Kriss's hands come to wrap around El's wrists, not to pull him away, but to hold him close. “I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to be sorry. I'm not, and I never will be.”

“It was because of me though, wasn't it?”

“Maybe.” Kriss shrugs. “I could have lied to him though, told him that I didn't love you and that I was sorry. That I wouldn't write to you any more. I could have kept our letters a secret. You're too important, though. I refused to let him take any of you from me, and I'm willing to bear these scars as a mark of that. I love you, and I will wear you on my skin forever, El.”

El laughs, a little brokenly, into Kriss's neck. “You went so far to prove to him-”

“Not to him, to myself. I- it's hard to explain. You understand, though, don't you?”

El swallows, and thinks about it. Thinks about tucking his feathers into letters to Kriss, about the days and days of travel from his Master's house to Loksanet. About cuts on his fingers from sharpening quills, the anxiety of waiting for the next letter, and the time he spent keeping Kriss a secret- the first secret he had ever kept in his life- for fear of his family's reaction. “I think I do understand,” he says, and it's the truth.

 


End file.
